I'm back, guys

I know, I know. I did you dirty. I went on a two week hiatus. I get it. I had just earned your trust when out of the blue I just vanish. Do I have a decent excuse? No. Well, kind of. But actually, no... No, I do not.

So, I'm going to move along with this post and not focus on how I've failed you as your beacon of light in your grueling miserable lives.

Well... I mean, I guess I'll touch on what's been going on.

So, two weeks ago, I went to Lebanon. This time was different though. I went with my girlfriend... and the Turkish lira tanked so EVERYTHING WAS UNGODLY EXPENSIVE. I'm surprised I didn't have to start selling my ass in order to afford cab fare. Jesus.

What's interesting is that I had it set in my mind that I was leaving on a Saturday when in fact it was a Friday. Thank God I checked the day's date on Thursday or I would have been woefully ill-prepared for my trip... also, I would've had a very angry girlfriend on my hands.

Now, I love Lebanon. I love it a lot. I could never live there though. That much I knew before going. But it was during this trip that I realized that I've kinda outgrown going to Lebanon every summer. Don't get me wrong. Lebanon is wonderful, but it's a great place for a single, young man. Not that it's brimming to the rim with loose women and booze... it is... but I never went for that. Hell, I'm lucky to have a girlfriend on account of my "game" being virtually non-existent. This might come as a legitimate shock to some of you... I kinda talk a lot.... I mean... A LOT. I'm a conversation slut. But that doesn't translate to being a ladies man as some would think. When it comes to the ladies, I have as much tact as that one guy who stares at women like a fat man stares at the ice cream selection behind the glass. There's a lot of sweat, matched only by the sheer desire in his eyes, as he licks his lips furiously, puts a finger on each nipples, and sensually moans, "I've been a bad, bad boy... Ouuuuu!"

Where was I? Reading... reading... oh yeah! Lebanon. So I went to Lebanon as an escape to something familiar. The hustle-and-bustle of Lebanon is much like Puerto Rico. The traffic, sheer chaos, and culture are almost identical. Yet there is also a more traditional feel that Puerto Rico has lost that is ever-present in Lebanon, especially outside of Beirut. But, it is ultimately for a single, young man. I've usually gone there with one or more friends who are from there. They take me to the hole-in-the-wall places, the places only locals know, the famous sites, -y'know- the whole nine yards. I've always felt a part of Lebanon. It's always been this second home on this side of the world.

We would stay late into the night talking politics and history and religion while smoking argile/ nargile/ shisha/ ... *shutters* hookah. We were carefree and had no responsibilities. Mo would usually hatch a crazy scheme that would get us a rented van that looked like it was going to drop dead and ascend to car heaven. He would also insist on driving despite having the driving skills of an autistic sea otter who lost most of it fingers to a land mine. Was I the better driver? Of course, and no one can dispute that. What I'm saying is that this sort of thing is great if you are a sole adventurer. When the car broke down in Nabitieh in the middle of the night, it was all part of this crazy, fun adventure. It was experiencing the ups-and-downs of Lebanon.

Well, this time was different. There was no car, there was no Mo... I mean, there was... he just wasn't in Lebanon. He's still alive, and most likely his driving skills have not improved. My friend in Lebanon was busy with his finals. I was on my own with my girlfriend and a horrible exchange rate for Turkish liras. I should mention that I had an Arabic-speaking friend with me, but he's Iraqi. He was just a tourist like we were. Furthermore, my girlfriend mostly speaks Turkish, and so I had the role as translator. Not that it was bad. I love my girlfriend. I'm glad I got to show her what I could of Lebanon, but it was a different role. I was no longer an adventurer... I was a guide. Being a guide sucks... especially when you have to take taxis and buses everywhere. I had to be conscious of her sensibilities. Things that I usually shrug off are not the same things she would take lightly. The smells, the food, the landscape, the general chaos... these aren't appealing to some. Sure, there is the other side of Lebanon which is all non-stop parties and rampant cocaine use, but neither of us were interested in that.

I had to stop and think why Lebanon is so important to me and how can I translate that importance to her. The problem is that it's very personal for me. Lebanon is important to me as a Puerto Rican (because of the similarities) and as a Shi'a Muslism (due to a group that will go unnamed, but you totally know which group it is... they're great). Especially concerning the latter, I love going to the South (Jnoub) and taking it all in. I see people going their daily lives in peace and pride of where they are from, and I think of the sacrifices they had to make to have it and how they never wavered in their resolve for a better future. These are the people that fought the seemingly-invincible behemoth and sent it back with its tail between its legs, demonstrating that even monsters can bleed. My heart swells with pride knowing that we follow the same path in Islam. We venerate the same figures who served as examples in our fight against oppression...

so HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO GET SOMEONE ELSE TO FEEL THAT?!
... and in TURKISH, no less!?

I realized that I'll never be able to do that because my girlfriend isn't me. I can make parallels, but it won't ever be her reality. It will never have the same impact. Not to say it's impossible, but for a week-long vacation and taking into account my level of Turkish... yes, it woulda been fuckin' impossible.

Her world doesn't translate into the reality in Lebanon like mine does. Turkey was never colonized and it's biggest enemies have usually been internal. Puerto Rico and Lebanon were both colonized and both face threats from outside as well as from within (Puerto Rico: the US; Lebanon: Israel). She can only really be an sympathetic observer. And don't get me wrong, she's very sympathetic to a certain group that again will go nameless, but it isn't internalized. They are just allies for her, as opposed to brothers-in-arms.

With all that said, I realized that I've moved to this new stage in life. I need to be conscious of "we" and "us," not just "I" and "me." The days of being a lone adventurer are behind me. That's not to say my days of international travel are over; of course not. I just need to keep my other half in mind from here on out because it is my responsibility as a boyfriend and eventual husband... and -God help us- eventual father.

Growning up is fuckin' weird, guys... but it's not half-bad.

Lon's Guide to Dating: Part 2

... So as I mentioned in my previous post, I actually already wrote this one. However, the internet had other plans and erased all my hard work. FUCK YOU INTERNET!
Anyway, without any further ado...

The Second Part to Lon's Guide to Dating...

this one is for the ladies.

Step 1: Exist.

This is pretty straightforward since most men will copulate with anything with a pulse.

Step 2: What to wear.

For the love of God dress practical. You're pursuing the most dangerous game: man. Dress the FUCKING part. Heels? ARE YOU TRYING TO DIE?! Short-shorts? STOP! Throw away all those cute outfits! Sure, they are fashionable, but FASHIONABLE WILL GET YOU FUCKIN' KILLED! Have you ever had to square-off one-to-one with a cornered man-baby with a neckbeard and acne?! IT AIN'T FUCKIN' PRETTY!

Let's start from the bottom. Boots. No heel. Steel-toed is preferred. Real leather. AND YOU BETTER BE WEARING SOCKS!

Next: Pants. Nothing too loose. You don't want them getting snagged on something. Make sure they're thick too. They should be either black or brown.

Moving up: Long-sleeve shirt or preferably a tunic. What's a tunic?

This is a tunic.

Any dark color will suffice. Definitely use a belt. No one likes a saggy tunic.

Next: Padded/Leather Armor. This should look kinda like a coat... I'm sure I can give you a picture for a reference... um.... 

SHA-BLAMO!

 

Last: Just like the picture above, a hooded cloak will finish your outfit. Now to Step 3!

Step 3: Weaponry

Melee Weapons: Short sword, skinning knife (you'll thank me later), hachet

Ranged Weapons: Crossbow, about 20 bolts (the things you put in the crossbow... you're already disappointing me), javelin

Miscellaneous: Rope, several bear traps

Step 4: Pursuit

Now you are ready to pursue a man. Never wait for one to come to you. That's just asking for trouble. Despite what your well-intentioned mother/ friend/ aunt/ cousin/ talking dog/ ghost of Emily Bronte says, waiting is how people get killed. You are a huntress! ACT LIKE ONE GODDAMMIT!

First: Where the men at? You can find them everywhere. They have a distinct call. It is often heard in public areas such as bars and parks. "Hey, Bro! Hey, Bro!" or "Dude! Dude!"
Once you've spotted a herd of men, choose your prey. Will you go for the strongest of the pack? Or will you go for the old or weak?... That one is in a wheelchair... no... don't go for that one... Ok... that one is well into his 80s... are you taking this shit seriously?... that one is a chick who only has guy friends! This pack has been tainted by her presence. Find another pack.

Once you've chosen your target, keep your presence hidden. Keep in the bushes or a safe distance from him. Men can be skiddish. If he becomes alerted of your presence, retreat. Last thing you want is him approaching you. When he is alone, ready your crossbow and aim at one of his calves. This will reduce his chances of running away, but it is still nonlethal. When you have the shot lined up, fire.

Now, one out of two things has just happened. You either hit or miss. If you hit, emerge from your hiding spot and ready your sword and rope. Hogtie that bad boy and cart him off to your horse/ car/  motorcycle.

If you missed, there are couple of things you can still do. If he didn't hear/ see the shot, reload and shoot again. If he was alerted to your presence, either flee or fight. If you fight, you may have to chase the fucker down. Have your sword at the ready, but keep your javelin in hand. The javelin is really useful because you can throw it or you can use it as a short spear. Make sure to go for his legs. If you can disable his legs, capturing him will be easy. Be warned though. Be prepared for close quarters combat. Man is like any other animal. When cornered, he is at his most dangerous.

With any luck, you've got the bastard hogtied.

Step 5: The Date

Bring your hogtied lad to your favorite restaurant or a restaurant you've been dying to try. Make sure your man is bound and gagged. He shouldn't do any talking. Men should be seen, not heard. Make sure to tell him that. Talk to him about your dreams, feelings, day at work, that slut Karen, ex-boyfriends, any issues pertaining to your father, your allergy to left-handed mice, your crippling fear of that one Barenaked Ladies song that was really popular in the late 90s (the one that goes "IT'S BEEN..."). Anything and everything. Constantly remind him of how great a listener he is. Is he crying? Grab his face and gaze into his tear-filled eyes. Is he trying to look away? Shake his head violently until you two make eye contact. Lick the tears from his face. Savor the saltiness.

After you've finished your meal, take his wallet and pay for the meal with his money. CHIVALRY IS NOT DEAD, GODDAMMIT! Before you see each other off, write down your name and number on a napkin. Shove it in his pocket. Now, with the skinning knife, cut his ropes. Watch him scurry off into the night.

With any luck, he'll call you within the next day or so. If not, oh well! Just find yourself another man. Happy Hunting! 

An Update

So, Ramadan ended last week. So I'm officially back. In fact, I wrote Part 2 of my guide to dating... BUT THEN THIS FUCKIN' THING DIDN'T SAVE IT AND I HAVE TO WRITE IT ALL OVER AGAIN!

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

 

So, I kinda don't have any steam for this week, but I GOTTA KEEP CONSISTENT.

I don't even think I'm gonna post this on Facebook.... meh....

Almost forgot to do this

As the title suggests, I almost forgot to write this week. I always write on Monday, but this Monday I totally spaced it. I WILL NOT LET YOU DOWN, DEAR READERS!

That being said, I'm phoning it in again.

Look, Ramadan is almost finished. There's only a couple of days left. It's weird because I'm so used to fasting. When Ramadan is over, you feel almost guilty eating and drinking during the day that first day. Then, you get used to it and return to your shitty lifestyle.

Y'know, I kinda treat Ramadan like a New Year's sort of thing. It's my chance to start new things that are better for my life. I guess I make resolutions, and much like New Year's resolutions, I take it as an opportunity to disappoint myself in new and creative ways.

So, random thing, but I have a callous on top of my left foot. I've had it for some time now, but I couldn't figure out why it was there and why there wasn't one on my right foot. I thought it was just my shoes, but if that were the case, I'd have one on my right foot too. Then, it hit me. It's from praying (the Muslim kind, not the normal "talk to God" and so forth one). So, let me explain this to my non-Muslim readers...

Muslims pray five times a day. As I've said before in other posts, I am a Shi'a Muslim (12er/ Ja'fari) so I'm gonna explain ours. It's basically the same as Sunni prayers with a few differences.

The first prayer is before sunrise (I usually do this one late when it isn't Ramadan... I know... bad Muslim). This is made of two rak'a... and a rak'a is basically a "round." Just hear me out. So, you start by putting down your prayer mat facing Mecca and putting down a tablet of clay where your forehead will touch the ground (this is a Shi'a thing). Now you face Mecca. You put your hands near your ears and think "I offer this prayer of Fajr (morning prayer) of rak'atain (2 rak'at) to gain closeness to God." Then, looking at the clay tablet, you say "Allahu Akbar." Now the fun begins.

So one rak'a starts with reciting two surahs while standing. A surah is like a chapter from the Qur'an. The first one is always Fatiha which is the first surah of the Qur'an. It's gotta be in Arabic too. All of this is in Arabic. Anyway, you then recite another surah of your choice. I always do Ikhlas. It isn't too long. After your two surahs, you say "allahu akbar" and then bow. Now if you're like me, you just say "subhanallah" three times while bowing. That just means "Glory be to God." There are other things to say... but I don't speak Arabic and this is the easiest to remember. Then you rise and say "sami'allahu liman hamidah" which means "God listens to those who praise him." You say "allahu akbar" and then you get down on the ground on your knees. This is where you bow and put your forehead on the tablet. Again, three subhanallah's with your head down and you rise to a kneeling position. Now, we Shi'a keep our feet tucked under us with our right on top of the left. THIS IS WHERE THE CALLOUS COMES FROM. You say "allahu akbar"... pause/ say something like "god forgive me for my sins"... "allahu akbar" again and go back to putting that forehead of yours on some clay.

And that's one rak'a. You stand up and do it again. Now there's a few differences in the last rak'a of a prayer and a couple of more differences, but you get the gist.

"But Lon!" I hear you say. "Why does it need to be in Arabic?"

Good question. These are NOT normal prayers where you talk to God and ask for stuff like lotto numbers or an potential spouse or meaning to your sad, pitiful existence. Muslims have those prayers too. And they can be in any language. The five daily prayers have a different purpose. They are a reminder of your obligation to God and the connection you have to God. It's kinda like an agreement you make as a Muslim. The same goes for fasting during Ramadan. It's purpose is to keep you constantly connected with God and humbled.

And that's how I got my foot callous.

Hopefully, some of you learned something. Oh, and I didn't translate Allah to mean Allah because Allah is just God in Arabic.

Also, if you have Arab friends, they say "wallah" or "wallahi" a lot. There is no "probably" about this. They do it. That just means "I swear to God." If you want to pretend to be Arab, you need to say this about 3 times in a minute of normal conversation to pass for being Arab. Wallahi them the rules... see what I did there.

Quick Update

Yeah, guys. I'm phoning this shit in this week. I only got like one more week or so of Ramadan, so hold on to your panties.

I'm pretty impressed with myself though. I have been consistent as hell. I mean, the quality has dramatically plummeted but just look at that consistency.

So, I learn a couple of new things every Ramadan. This Ramadan, I learned that Sunnis and Shi'a don't break their fast at the same time. That means I hear the call to prayer blare throughout the city and watch as my fellow Muslims break their fast, but I get to wait 10 more minutes or so to break mine. You guys in non-Muslim countries are so lucky. You don't get Ramadan "blue balls."

Also, I need to eat more fiber. I feel like I'm slowly filling up with poo that won't come out.

That visual... ah... you're welcome.

So, I'll be finishing those two Part 1 posts in the coming weeks. Plus, I got some ideas from some other posts for you guys. And yes, I usually plan these posts in advance... which is so sad.

Anyway, I'll be back next week.

An Interview: Part 1

It was a cold, rainy day in the grey streets of the Lower East Side in Manhattan. In an attempt to get out of the downpour, I had sought refuge in a dingy little bar tucked away off a small street. The neon signs glowed ominously in the haze of New York City.

I immediately took off my soaked coat and hat as soon as I walked into the seemingly deserted establishment. The lights were low, and the only real illumination came from the various beer advertisement signs hanging on the walls of the bar. The atmosphere was straight out of a late 1920s speakeasy that had seen its glory days many years before. Over the bar was a sign. It read Vincent's. That would mean the man behind the bar was the aforementioned Vincent.

I walked up to the bar and looked the bartender in the eye. He was a man in his fifties, definitely Italian, a native New Yorker just by looking at him. His dark heavy eyebrows hung low over his nearly black eyes. A thin moustache stood atop his thick obviously Sicilian lips. I looked up at the sign and back down at him. "So, you must be Vincent."

It turns out that his real name wasn't Vincent at all. He'd bought the place from the original Vincent years ago. Part of the deal was that he would also inherit the name Vincent. He'd absorbed the original Vincent's essence and that was that. He was now the one who donned the name Vincent. After the explanation, I asked what his original name was. As he dried a glass with a rag, he said that it had been forgotten long ago.

Trying desperately to avoid further talking to this man, I ordered a Coke and looked toward the only patron besides myself. He was a man in his seventies who had clearly seen more than any one man should. Wearing a top hat and a dusty tuxedo, he looked like a man who had been on his way to a gala when he was suddenly struck with homelessness and alcoholism. He sat at the end of the bar knocking back a glass of whiskey as I approached him.

"What's with the get up, old timer?" I asked as I leaned facing him against the counter.

"Don't you know who the fuck I am, pup?" he growled back.

Now, my interest was piqued, but I slyly told him I had no idea. He looked at me, his eyes half-cocked and dazed. Clearly he'd been drinking a bit. His lips were pursed and his brow furled. He presented both hands with palms towards me. He didn't break eye contact, and I wasn't going to be shown up by some geezer, so I didn't break it either. In a flash, he reached behind my ear and pulled a comically large coin from behind it.

"Your pussy wet yet, kid?" He grunted smirking. It was. It most certainly was.

He returned to his drink as I stared at him bewildered. What was this man? What sort of sorcery was this? I couldn't keep my eyes off him.

He stared down at his drink for a few moments and said, "I know what you're thinking, kid. How does someone with such skill end up in a bar like this?" He chuckled. "Well, it's quite the tale." He knocked back another glass of whiskey.

I insisted I had time to hear it. He looked over at me studying my face intently. Then, with a quick flurry of his hand, he was holding a deck of cards. He fanned the cards and instructed me to pick any card. He then called me a "pussy." I picked out a card and slowly brought it up, making sure to hide it. What was his game? What was the purpose of this? And where the fuck did those cards come from?

He gazed directly at me. I sat frozen as he peered into his eyes. A moment passed. Then another.

That's when he vomited a flurry of color straight into my face. It was vomit, booze, and a long rope of tied colored scarves that hit me square in the face. "Five of hearts," he belched.

"Uh..." I wiped the chunks off my face as I said, "Yeah."

"Still got it," he grumbled as he collapsed on the floor unconscious. This was immediately followed by the sound of him audibly defecating his trousers. A dove then burst from his waistline and flew frantically in the bar.

Vincent rolled his eyes, picked up a broom to swat the panicked dove, and said, "Not again."
__________________________________________________________________

Tune in next week for more of my Interview with a Magician.

Ramadan

So, I got some bad news. I don't think I can possibly deliver the quality of toilet humor and ridiculous banter that my readership has grown accustomed to while I'm fasting. Fasting essential turns my brain into mush. Not in a bad way... but in a more like... um... not coherent way.

It's weird. There's normal Lon, and then there's Ramadan Lon. Normal Lon smokes way too many cigarettes and drinks way too much coffee and tea. Ramadan Lon doesn't really do that. He usually speaks about himself in the third person... to be honest, he does this in his normal state as well.

When I fast (that is to say that I don't eat or drink anything from the first call to prayer [around 3:30 in the morning] to the fourth call to prayer [about 8:30 in the evening]), time goes by slowly. I like to spend time outside in the shade and just relax.... I know, gay, right?

So, I will have to put my consistency on hold... which by definition means I'm not being consistent. Well, so be it. You guys will live. Also, I won't forget about you. I still owe you Part 2 of the guide to dating.

Let me give you my Ramadan routine though. If I have work, I work. Pretty straight forward there. I also have a habit of falling asleep on the bus to and from work. Fasting makes me tired. If I don't have work, I watch TV series. It has been a Ramadan tradition to watch Adventure Time and as God is my witness, I will not break such a sacred tradition. I also don't play any video games. I'm not sure why though.

Anyway, I will talk to you guys again once Ramadan is over. That'll be... um... June 14th-ish. Don't worry. In the words of the Terminator: "Are you John Connor?" ... wait... no... it's not that line... um... which one is it... it's on the tip of my tongue... um... "Terminate this, fucker!"

No... that's Sarah Connor's line... um... "hasta luego, toddler"

Yeah... that seems right.

Lon's Guide to Dating: Part 1

Well, it's Monday again, and you know what that means... another update for my blog.

You're Welcome

So, you're in luck because I am here to impart my knowledge onto you, dear reader. Y'see, I've been in a relationship for quite some time now, and I know many of you reading this are either in loveless relationships that only make the light within dim by the day or so insanely single that even your mother has given up loving you because there is absolutely no chance you will bear her grandchildren. Admit it... you know I'm right. Either way you need my wise sage-like counsel. Council? Counsel?... whichever means advice... advise?... advice?... whichever one means something I tell you to get your life together.... Words... I teach English.

Now, this post will be divided into two parts. One for the men... and one for the LAAAAAAAAAAADIES! Y'know what I'm saying? WHAT WHAT! You go Karen! WORK IT! YOU GO GIRL! WOOO- Oh Christ, she fell down.... someone check on Karen to make sure she's okay... um... where was I?

Moving on...

So without any further ado... ahem... I present...

LON'S GUIDE TO DATING

FOR THE MEN

So, you've come to Papa Lon for the answers. I get it. We all feel lost. Let Papa put your mind at ease. 

First... stop calling me Papa... That makes me uncomfortable. Okay? At first it was cute and kinda with our theme here, but now it's bordering creepy and I'm beginning to suspect your father didn't give you enough attention as a kid. This is why you'll forever be unlovable. 

Now, many of you don't know where to find women. And if you do, there are probably related to you. Rule #1: YOU CANNOT DATE YOUR MOTHER. Your dad already put that work in. You can't ride his coat tails forever. You gotta go stake out your own woman. 

You're probably saying something right now like "HOW?" and "IT'S TOO HARD!" and "I don't think this applies to me because I'm sexually attracted to men." Well, shut the fuck up to the first two and "that's a valid point, but I can't help you" to the last. 

Step One: Find a Woman

She can be walking on the street or sitting alone in a cafe. She could be having drinks with co-workers at the local bar. Hell, she could be your yoga instructor who has yet to call me back after our first date 5 years ago... YOU BROKE MY HEART, MELANIE! 

The point is you need to approach them... preferably from behind. Women enjoy being startled by men they've never met. It's also a wonderful ice breaker.

But what should you say? Women like compliments. Tell her she smells good... then correct yourself and say she smells well. She'll be impressed by your knowledge of grammar. 

Maybe you could try to impress her. Walk up and tell her how many push-ups you can do. Obviously, you should "flex your guns" after saying this, but DON'T FORGET TO KISS EACH BICEP. I can't tell you how many guys have flubbed this by forgetting to do just that.

Another thing you can do is point out a good physical trait you have. Say something like "Did you notice my neck beard?" Then go into a in-depth explanation of how you properly groom and maintain said neck beard. Trust me, women know how to appreciate a good neck beard. It is literally an aphrodisiac. 

If all else fails, just stare at her boobs and tell her they remind you of your mother's. Women like a man who has an close relationship with his mother. It shows good character.

Even I'm getting wet over this picture.

 You've just finished your opening comments. Introduce yourself. State your first and last name. Your age. Your position. Your star sign (Capricorn, WHAT WHAT!). Whether you're fertile or not. And your pronunciation of the word GIF. (side note: if you pronounce it with the g in giraffe, then you should stop reading this immediately and jump into oncoming traffic. You are literally worse than Hitler.)

After introducing yourself, you now need to get some information. Ask her what her name is, how old she is, what is her job, what is her blood type, how many kidneys does she have, and what is her phone number. Oh and...

Correct answer is your name and your position.

Now, she may insist she has a boyfriend already. Explain that you're sorry for her being trapped in a soul-crushing relationship. Proceed to challenge her boyfriend in combat for her hand. If she refuses, she is clearly lying about her boyfriend. He doesn't exist. Leave immediately. You want a partner, not some two-timing lying hussy.

If she accepts, further explain that you had to register your hands as lethal weapons. Tell her you studied Krav Maga, the Israeli martial art designed for killing unarmed Palestinians. If she still doesn't back down, yield. No woman is worth getting your ass handed to you in front of said woman. Unsheathe your wakizashi and commit seppuku where you stand. She may have called your bluff, but you remain with your honor in tact.

Sayonara Neck Beard-san

Now, hopefully you don't get disemboweled by your own hand. You have gotten her number. Congratulations... we aren't over yet.

Step Two: First Date

You should text or call her... text actually... calling is weird now and there's no going back. Anyway, text her the next day. Try to meet up for coffee. Coffee is always a nice first date... or a restaurant... food... food needs to be involved. If you're really broke, just go to a park and walk with her, but if you do, don't you dare fuckin' sweat. SWEAT IS A SIGN OF WEAKNESS! If you end up sweating, just say it's dew or she is imagining things. Tell her your pores are crying because they watched a really sad movie. Never admit that it's sweat.

Regardless of where you go, you need to dress appropriately and be prepared. Don't shower or use deodorant for a couple of days before hand. Your natural musk will make her loins froth uncontrollably. This is one of the reasons why homeless guys get so much poontang. That's a fact. Also, wear a fedora. Nothing says classy like a fedora. Keep her guessing. Are you secretly a superhero? Are you an Italian mob member? Are you a investigative journalist/detective from 1930s New York stuck in our time because of a temporal rift in the time-space continuum? Women like a man of mystery. 

Wear a polo shirt two sizes too big. Is it a shirt? Is it a blouse?  Is it some sorta man-dress? Who the fuck knows! Mystery!

Wear jeans or shorts. BUT if you wear shorts, you need to wear those long socks that you usually roll up to your mid-shin... yeah, but this time scrunch them down. Set your own fashion trends. Chicks dig that shit.

So, now you're at a restaurant or cafe. I know I said some shit about a park, but you're on your own for that shit. DON'T SWEAT! Make sure that it's at night and it is dimly lit. Ambience is everything. Also, you're going to need a candle. Not a Roman one... like an actual candle. Why? SHADOW PUPPETS! THAT'S WHY!

I'm even sure what the fuck that is but it gets me fuckin' hot.

 

 

 Women love shadow puppets. Make sure she's seated though. Last thing you need is to have her so hot and ready-to-go down there that her knees buckle.

Really, that's it. Everything else is inconsequential. I'm totally not saying that because my back is starting to give out as I write this seated on my bed. I genuinely mean it. Shadow puppets will seal the deal 100% of the time. Only pull those bad boys out when you're serious about the girl. There's no need to go playing with the hearts of ladies.

Oh... and one more thing. Always address her as M'lady. Chivalry is NOT dead. It also doesn't hurt to speak in a more formal, Shakespearean English. "Dost thou catch'th mine drift, m'lady?" should be said at least once during your first date. Now you understand why you brought the fedora...

The reason it only shows above his shoulders is because he is literally swimming in pussy

So that's it for Part One. I trust you will go out into the world new men. 

I will be fasting for the next four weeks since Ramadan starts on Wednesday. Nothing will stop me from giving you what you want, my dear readers. Not even my fasting-induced madness.

Tune in next week for Part Two of our two-part series. This has been Lon, and remember: Always be the best you that you can- Oh Shit! Did someone check on Karen?.... Is she alright?... Of course, the readers will get this joke!... It's called a "call-back".... No, I don't think it will go over their heads... yeah... yeah... Look, if they don't get it then they can just scroll up... uh-huh... alright.... What do mean the readers won't understand that this is working like some kind of phone conversation where they can't hear the other party involved in this conversation.... uh-huh... yeah... No, I'm not "dragging this bit out."... yeah... okay... uh-huh...well yeah, now I am.... Well, tell Karen I hope she gets better... Alright... bye-bye... uh-huh... see you soon, bye-bye.

I honestly took five minutes trying to figure out how I was going to end that... I regret nothing.

A Month of Consistency

Yes, it's been a month. A month of me writing once a week on this. Granted in the overall scheme of things, it's really nothing... but it's a hell of a lot better than what I doing which was... uh... a year and a half hiatus. So... I'm getting better is all I'm saying.

Sure you are, Lon

 

Anyway, despite the improvised feel of my blog, I actually spend time thinking about what I'm gonna write about... which makes most of these posts sad and horrifying at the same time... sordifying? sarrifying? haddifying?... Donald Trumpesque. (Ha HA! Topical!)

However, I think today I'll reward myself if a short post... I know, I know... I'm coping out. But let me assure you more are to come. Longer... Better... dare I say, Thicker?... 

UGH! SO MOIST RIGHT NOW!

 

Now, in the past, I would just load this bad boy with gifs and call it a day... but that was the old Lon (which is a weird thing to say because I am in fact older now... fuck it! THAT WAS THE YOUNG LON!) I was inexperienced and more prone to bouts of laziness... God, I can't stop staring at Tom Hardy... He should be called Tom "Give You a" Hardy.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, so I'm not going to just put a bunch of gifs or funny pictures... Fuckin' Hardy...It's like he knows I'm looking at him and he's winking into my soul.

God... how can women resist him? And it's weird because he actually has lips which is a rare trait for English people. Dead serious... English people have snake faces... No lips. I think they sent most of their lipped population abroad. Now of course, there are some famous English people with lips...

Jagger's face is about 80% mouth/lips

 

But I theorize that the reason Jagger's and Hardy's lips are so big is to compensate for the rest of the English population.

Exhibit A

 

 Not a single lip...

 

Exhibit B

 No one in the picture has lips either... damn Michael Caine is old

 

Exhibit C

 

 

Now Exhibit C is interesting because the Bond second from the left clearly has lips... but here's the problem. That's George Lazenby... He's Australian. All the other Bonds essentially have slits in their faces.

So here's a little homework... try watching the BBC and play "Spot the Lips"... hell, make it a drinking game. Every time you see an Englishman, Welshman, or Scotsman with a pair of actual human lips, take a shot... I bet you will achieve a level of sobriety not thought possible. Now... they can't be immigrants. They need British last names. It can't just be the accent. Australians don't count. Also, I'm not sure if the Irish can be counted... being that they weren't even counted as people until quite recently.

I'm sure that some of you just had your minds blown. I wanna see if I can get this stereotype going. Like the first time you meet someone and ask them if their family is from England and they say "yeah" and you say "yeah, that makes sense" and they say "oh why's that" and you say "because you literally have no lips." Of course, that person won't understand at first. "Is that a thing?" they might think... well... I'M GONNA MAKE IT A THING!

That's all for now. I'm hungry and I'm gonna order food... so... um... I'll see you guys next week.

Comics: The Age Old Question

Now this is my third week in a row. I'm committed to you guys. I've changed my ways. Please, baby. Take me back.

So, today I'm gonna do an analysis of two superheroes. One from DC and one from Marvel. That being said... I saw Avengers: Infinity War... THAT SHIT WAS DOOOOOOOPE!

OH SNAP! ... too soon?

So it got me thinking... Why do I like Marvel way more than DC? Really I mean, why is Marvel better than DC. There I said it! Come at me bro!

Now, DC's darling savior has always been Batman. Mr. The Batman. Bat McMannington Esquire. The Dark Knight. Bruce "My Parents Are Dead" Wayne.

Y'know... this guy

But who in the Marvel Universe can we compare to Mr. Wayne?

Well, some people think Tony "Oozing Charisma and Alcohol" Stark aka Iron Man (cue: Black Sabbath rift) is the closest to our wing-ed friend. I disagree. Although both are multi-billionaires and both have dearly departed parents, Stark was an adult when his parents kicked the bucket. 

No, no, no. Iron Man is not a good comparison although I think we can all agree that Tony is much more intelligent than Batman.

"Then, who?" I hear you asking. Calm your tits! I'm getting there.

The most logical comparison is of course Peter "Spider Man" Parker.

I already hear some of you scoffing. STOP YOUR SCOFFAGE, PEASANT! 

Hear me out.

First, let's look at it point by point.

DEAD PARENTS

Both of their parents are dead. You know it. I know it. Depending on which Marvel Universe we're talking about, the story differs on how they kicked their respective buckets. Point being is that they are dead, and Peter has to live with his Aunt May and Uncle Ben. Now, Bruce witnessed his parents died at a young age which left him with only his dutiful and caring butler Alfred Pennyworth (#worth_every_penny amirite?). Oh... and countless BILLIONS OF FUCKIN' DOLLARS.

Peter was left with only his lower-middle-class aunt and uncle in their Queens house. Oh, but as for witnessing a loved one die, he holds himself personally responsible for the preventable death of his uncle. Oh, and he accidentally killed his first love Gwen Stacy. You see how that might be a little worse of a situation. Bruce doesn't have to live with his parents' blood on his hands. Spidey has to live with that shit. Every-god-damn-day. He has to look in the mirror as he does his morning aspirations. "With great -you killed- power comes great- your uncle and girlfriend- responsibility." Sip that in. Does it taste like sadness and guilt? Good. What's that? You had to kill your best friend's dad, Norman Osbourne, and your best friend hates you for doing it even though he has no clue you are actually Spider Man. Oh... wow... that's pretty heavy.

Oh... also in recent issues of the comic, Mary Jane (his wife) dies from cancer because of his radioactive jizz. Spidey can't get a break.

INTELLIGENCE (BATMAN'S SUPER POWER)

Now, everyone says Batman is the smartest person in the DC Universe. Him or Brainiac... but Brainiac is a bad guy, so he doesn't count. Maybe Lex Luthor... eh... Batman, I guess.

His inventions aren't actually all that spectacular. He sorta just has the technology (which in some cases, he didn't even come up with) when it comes to figuring shit out. Moreover, he doesn't share this shit. He could very easily share this high class technology with the Gotham Police to aid them in their investigations. Does he? NO! OF COURSE HE DOESN'T! The Gotham Police has plenty of officers! OFFICERS WITH LIVING PARENTS! UGGGGGH!

Peter on the other hand came up with a substance that is essentially synthetic spider webbing when he was still in high school. I'm sorry... what? You heard me! Without all the billions at Batman's disposal, Peter Parker was able to invent (or in some cases, just replicate- but this is just as impressive) synthetic spider webbing along with a portable device to disperse it. I mean, this is actually ground breaking shit. And how does he fund this? On a newspaper photographer's salary, motherfucker.

 

CRIME FIGHTING

Now both Batman and Spiderman fight crime. Everything from big super villains to petty criminals. With Spiderman it's low scale. He mostly sticks to his area. Like Batman, he tries not to kill anyone, but it isn't like "his code." Since he has superior fighting skills, super strength, and that webbing, he can usually take down criminals non-lethally.

But Batman? There is no way he doesn't cause the deaths of people, both criminals and innocents. Merely speeding around Gotham in his Batmobile would probably lead to at least one person in getting in a fatal car crash. And the police chases? DUDE! There is no way some of those cops are walking away from those crashes. Batman has to have at least permanently ended the careers of a handful of Gotham's finest.

There is NO WAY those guys aren't dead

Seriously, look at that picture. Those guys are dead. The cars behind that blown up truck are going to pile up. At least ten people will die, even if the car doesn't go over the barrier into on-coming traffic. 

Really!

I bet he will go home at night and in the morning, watch the news to hear of his exploits. 

TV: Late last night, Batman apprehended the Joker in a high-speed car chase on the highway.

Batman: (in gravelly voice) You see, Alfred... that was meeeeee-

TV: The Caped Crusader lobbed explosives into traffic which resulted in an immediate pile up and the lives of most of the criminals along with several innocent motorists.

Batman: -eeeeeeeeeeee... *breathes* meeeeeeeeeeeeee... I am the night... I am... BATMAAAAAAN

Alfred: How astute of you Master Wayne.

Batman: Pull my finger Alfred... I think there's a breeze coming through the Bat Cave.

Alfred: ... Master Wayne-

Batman: PULL IT! *Alfred pulls his finger and Batman farts* OH NO, ALFRED! It's the Joker's Laughing Gas!

Alfred: Indeed, it is Master Bruce... Indeed, it is. *walks away*

TV: The death toll has reached 25 as some of the injured succumbed to their wounds. Officials from Gotham General expect the number to increase as several more are in critical condition.

Batman: Ha... Laughing Gas... Good one, Batman. *continues to snicker while eating a bag of Doritos.* Uh oh... ALFRED! I need you to clean my Bat Tights!

 Spider Man is way better at not killing people. The webbing is the real difference maker. It's strong enough to stop cars from falling, hold criminals, the whole nine yards... and that isn't even part of his "super powers."

But what really sets them apart is that Bruce Wayne could take all that money of his and make a real difference. He could easily lobby the city government to make the necessary changes. Hell, he has enough money to lobby the whole federal government effectively, so one fucking city shouldn't be that hard. If he doesn't trust the city government, he could easily run for mayor and finance the campaigns of good trustworthy people in a host of high-ranked positions. He could easily use his wealth to make Gotham a safe, prosperous city. Seriously, he could donate vast sums to public works projects, renovations, and reform.

HAVE YOU SEEN ARKHAM ASYLUM and the prison?! That's essentially a violation of human rights that he just shrugs off. How about you work towards reforming and reintegrating the criminals you put away. I mean, JESUS CHRIST, MAN! You have the funds. Have Wayne Enterprises start a "Second Chance" program for convicts. You traveled the world and you didn't stop to think "hey... this prison system here isn't half bad. Less repeat offenders... safer communities..."

No, instead, he dresses like a bat and beats on working-class criminals. All the while he keeps screaming "MY PARENTS ARE DEAD!!!!" I beat at least a couple of these criminals never knew their fathers and watched their mothers kill themselves with drugs and booze. Hell.. I bet a couple of their mothers were hookers. No, but your rich parents died and you have anger issues. And do those criminals have health insurance to cover the severe beating you gave them? No... of course, they don't. Way to go Batman. You just slapped a whopping debt on this poor asshole and his family. I wonder if his kids are gonna end up fucked up. OF COURSE THEY ARE. If only there was another way... hmmmm... one that could alleviate the economic crisis these poor bastards are trapped in.

Smartest detective, my ass.

CONCLUSION

Batman is fuckin' terrible. I didn't even mention Peter's powers. There's no need. He is honestly a good guy just trying to do the right thing. But Batman? He just wants to beat up poor people and not address real issues that he could actually solve. Remember with great power comes great responsibility? Batman's power is his enormous wealth. And what does he do with it? FUCKIN' COSPLAY AS A GODDAMN FLYING CHUPACABRA!

Now... Batman does have something that can't be denied. He has amazing villains. I mean... they are fucking spectacular. They are deep and twisted. The Joker, Bane, Ras al-Ghul, Mr. Freeze, Catwoman (re-ow), and a host of others. Can they top Thanos, Magneto, Apocalypse, Loki, Galactus, or even Kingpin? No... oh god, no. Not even close... But they're still good.

There is only really two super villains that stand out in DC. First is the Joker. duh.

The second isn't even a Batman villain... it's Lex Luthor. Mr. Bald-Man-McGee himself.

Now... I should add that Lex Luthor is also really stupid at times. However, he is at his best when he doesn't have to lift a finger or put on some stupid high-powered kryponite suit thingy. It's when he is just being the embodiment of capitalism. There are many times when he'll support the good guys for his own nefarious reasons. Everything comes down to profit for him. So, sure... he'll essentially fund a shit ton of cancer research for the sole purpose of being able to patent it and sell it. The best thing about him is that he could do most of his sinister activities legally and they wouldn't be any less evil and despicable. The best thing about him is that our world is run by Lex Luthors, and we all know he is the bad guy. He is positively wonderful.

Anyway, despite all that, Marvel is still way better than DC. You can't compare. It's like comparing a heaping pile of dog shit with the Mona Lisa.  

And Fuck Superman... I think that goes without saying.

Oh... and Marvel has Deadpool... 

Any Questions?

A Comprehensive Guide to Raising Kids

Hey, guys.

Thought it was just a flash in the pan, me coming back with the blog and all. Didn't want to get your hopes up because you knew deep inside I was just going to abandon you all for another year? I bet you're reading this now thinking "You're just writing this just to purposefully get my hopes up. Writing a blog two weeks in a row doesn't make you consistent, Lon. HOW DARE YOU PLAY WITH MY EMOTIONS!"

You're right... two weeks in a row doesn't make me consistent. Now, I'm not gonna promise I'll be back next week... but I guess, we'll see.

Now, I've been racking my brain about what to write about. Nothing really has happened in the last week. I mean... today I got off of work because it's a holiday. I think its the Children's Holiday... All I know is that I didn't go to work today and it isn't a problem... this time, at least.

But this holiday is appropriate. I wanted to write about children today... but not in that way... uhhh... I've gone and made this awkward.

What I mean is a lot of people I know have kids. Like my parents... They've got kids. So does my sister. And my aunt and uncle. And I'm sure a lot of other people.

Now I don't have kids... I hope. If I do, no one has alerted me of this. I mean... people have but I ignored them. YOU CAN'T SUB POENA ME IF I'M IN TURKEY! HA HA!

Anyway, I want to impart my wisdom on child-rearing to you, my dear readers. If you follow this guide, you will raise your inferior gooey babies into manly men and ... uh... womanly women. Is womanly a word? Apparently it is because I'm not getting the squiggly red line under it. WOMANLY!

So let's get started.

MAKING THE BABY

Now... I'm a little shaky on this part of the process. Something about bees and birds. Is the stork the bird? Does the bee sting the stork and out of revenge the stork delivers a small human to the owners of the bees? Do all parents own bees? ... This metaphor raises more questions than it answers. 

Basically, when a man and woman... uhhh... want to... ummm... okay... why don't you just watch some porn and you'll get the gist of it. Just no gang bang porn. That'll confuse you. And lesbian and gay porn (not saying it's inferior to straight porn... please don't kill me) isn't what you're looking for. Also... ummm... solo work and blow jobs also it... you're going to have to narrow it down to creampies... just not anal creampies. I'll just wait here while you do that...

Good... now if you're a guy reading this... go clean yourself off. I'll wait a little longer. Oh... and just remember, you outta be ashamed. Disgusting. I sent you on one fact-finding mission and you just can't help yourself. I hope your dad/ mom/ grandmother/ dog walked in on you and cried. Now go wash yourself off, you animal.

To the ladies, I'm so sorry that we have to wait until these beasts cleanse off their shame goo from their nether regions... anyway... did you hear about Kristie and her new boyfriend? Yeah, I know... what a whore, right? He's kinda cute though. Think I have a chan- Oh hey guys, are you done washing up? Good. Fuckin' animals the lot of you.

Now to the next point.

PREGNANCY

Women. You are majestic and magnificent. You bring life into this world and only you can do that. That's why there's a wage gap.

Men. Your woman is gonna get fat. Try not to sleep with younger, thinner women. If you sleep with anyone, it should be with the mother of your future child... or someone much fatter and older than her. SHE WILL NEVER SUSPECT IT. Also, if you do that, sleeping with your wife will be like an upgrade. You'll appreciate your woman more. You'll say things to yourself like "Oh thank god! My woman may be pregnant but at least she doesn't have a hunchback/tons of warts/ back hair/ a 5 o'clock shadow/ a hook for a hand/ a penis/ an strange obsession with mating rituals of sea turtles like that other woman. If you're going to cheat, cheat to strengthen your relationship.

Women. Your man is going to be doing his best to be there for you/ avoid you at all costs due to pregnancy-induced madness. This may not happen again. Demand him to be at your side constantly. BREAK HIS SOUL. Remind him that it takes two to tango but only one not to pull out. Set the field for your future together. You don't want him to be carefree, independent, or happy. If you're miserable, make sure he is too. Pregnancy is a team effort. Remind him that you're the coach, and he's playing in the NCAA. (I'm sorry, ladies... only the guys will probably get that last joke. It's college sports... not that organization for black people... you're thinking of the NAACP... don't worry... happens more than I'd care to admit... wait, one of you thought it was for guns? You mean the NRA? How?... okay, yes both start with an N and end with an A... I know, but that's really all they have in-... WAIT! You thought it was that band with George Michael from the 80s? WHAM!? How could you even- ... Yes, I like that song too... no... stop singing it... it's gonna get stuck in.... OH GOD IT'S IN THERE ALREADY! THANKS A LOT, KAREN!... No it isn't by Hall & Oates... you're thinking of "You Make My Dreams Come True." GOD DAMMIT, NOW THAT'S IN MY HEAD! FUUUUUUUUUUUUU-)

 Oates's moustache makes my dreams come true

Wow... that was quite a tangent.

I'm sure a lot of you are eager to find the sex of the baby. Don't. It will only confuse you. Let it be spontaneous. Sure, people won't know what color scheme to get for gifts or what balloons to buy. Keep them on their toes. Make them feel bad for not being more attentive to the spawn growing in your collective womb. MAKE THEM PANIC! Guilt them for not giving enough presents.

BIRTH

Now, there is no delicate way to put this. I mean, a baby is gonna bust outta your woman's/ your vagina like the Kool Aid Man. I mean... the Kool Aid Man busts outta walls... not a vagina. I guess if you're in a field and someone say "Hey KOOL AID!" right next to someone's vagina, I'm sure he would bust out of that. It would be strange to say the least... why didn't he just bust outta the ground which is basically a wall for your feet? Why does he even come in the first place? So many questions... is the Kool Aid like his blood? Has anyone actually seen him drink Kool Aid? Is he like a Jesus type figure where he offers his blood to you for salvation? 

Moving on... if you have any questions as to how the miracle of birth looks like or you need a quick reference to show your children, who have the fuckin' nerve to ask where babies come from... Here you go...

Birth... Truly remarkable, isn't it?

 Anyway, now you have a brand-new baby. Is it a boy or girl? Are you assuming its gender? Ask it. If it doesn't say anything, just assume then. 

Now, if you have a girl, it's pretty simple. Name it. If you're white, just give it a "k" name. Kaitlin, Karen, Katie, Kristie, Kstephanie, Knuckles... if you're not white, you can't name it a "k" name. It'll confuse everyone. White people only get "k" and most of the months of the year. Everyone else gets one month but all the other letters for girls. And that's why there's a wage gap.

Black people... you can name your girl anything you want... and I'm sorry for ... um... well... everything... I guess everything is the best way to sum it up at this point.

Now, if you're Jewish... you know deep down that you're white. Let's not argue this. But, you can choose more than "k." I can't even think of a Jewish name that starts with K. BUT! If it isn't a Jewish name, you have to stick to the "k" convention. Look, I don't make the rules. So... for example... Karen Cohen is a fine name. Rachel Cohen is another fine name. Alexandra Cohen goes against the system. She will outcast and adopted by minorities. Them the rules.

Now if you have a boy, you have two main questions: What will his name be? and How do I get rid of that foreskin? Don't worry, I GOT YOU! Boys should have names that can't be made fun of easily. CHILDREN ARE FUCKIN' RUTHLESS. For example... my name growing up was Bud. My dad was Lon (that selfish bastard stealing my name) and I was Bud. BUD SOUNDS TOO MUCH LIKE BUTT! And then, it doesn't help that there's Budweiser and Bud Light. FUCKIN THANKS A LOT, DAD! HE GETS TO KEEP THE COOL NAME WHILE I'M REFERRED TO AS A LITERAL ASS! 

And that's why I stole his underwear when I was in middle school.

You might be thinking "John is a good name." Is it?! I've gotta go to the john! NO! SEE, IT'S USELESS!

Here are some safe names... Thadeus, Christian (NOT CHRIS... CHRIS CROSS APPLE SAUCE), Steven (NOT STEPHEN! It's TOO CLOSE TO STEPHANIE), Methuselah, Todd, Chad, Jedidiah, Eric, Angelo, Rufus, Marcus (NOT MARK... You got bad marks in math, Mark... see what I mean!?), Andrew, Kunta (NOT TOBY! HIS NAME WILL NOT BE TOBY), T'Challa, Ryan (but not Brian... it sounds too much like Ryan), Adam, David, Daniel, and Peter.

Now, if your son gets made fun of, it won't be because of his name... it will because he is just inferior to the other kids at school. That's just bad genetics and you only have your own testicles to blame... yell at them and hopefully they won't disappoint you with the next child. 

Now, if your Muslim and in the US... you gotta be smart. On the birth certificate give them the WHITEST NAME you can possibly think of. I'll help... ummm... Adolf Hitler... no that's too white... ummm... Christian Notmuslim. There you go. Hopefully he should be able to get on planes with no problem.

Latinos... just give your kids Muslim names, it's not like we have enough money to buy plane tickets anyway and we already look Arab. Plus, they're never asked about papers or any of that shit, so it's a win-win really. When you speak Spanish, put extra phlegm in the "j's". It'll sound like Arabic. Now, you don't have to worry about ICE... just the FBI.

Black people... you guys can use whatever name you want... 

So, how to get rid of the foreskin? I'm sure some of you are saying 'why get rid of the foreskin?' Dick cheese. I said it. Dick... fuckin'... cheese. Look that up why don't you. Plus, kids can hide things in their foreskin like knives and guns. It's a security precaution. 

Get rid of the foreskin right away. Don't wait for the doctor. Bite it off if you have to. The longer you wait, the more attached to it your son will get to it. But don't throw it away. Keep it. Put it on your mantle. Have it as a trophy so your son will always know that his dick has already been bested by his father. Put it in a case. Have your son clean, dust, and polish the case everyday in the morning. Let him start the day off being reminded of your superiority.

EARLY CHILDHOOD

The first couple years are uneventful. Your child will shit, eat, vomit, sleep, cry, and learn a few new tricks. It will learn to talk... remind it that it is more important to learn to listen. Have a word limit. Once it goes over that limit for the day, calmly scream "SHUT THE FUCK UP" in its face until it starts crying. You are the parent. Remember your role. There's no need to hit your child. Physical discipline can only break their bodies... Your words can break their souls.

This isn't to say you shouldn't encourage them to speak. Especially when their close to the word limit, engage them. Try to get them talking. But as soon as they hit that limit, remind them of the rules with the ancient parenting technique of screaming. Really startle them. Suddenly grabbing them should do the trick. Don't break eye contact. Really savor the look of panic in their young, impressionable eyes.

Your child will also learn to walk. They need to get permission to do so. If they can't formulate the words, then they don't deserve to walk. Put them in a purse or large bag. Paris Hilton did it with her chihuahua, and that chihuahua looked grateful. Your child should be equally, if not more, grateful. Your child's first words shouldn't be "mama" or "papa." They should be "May I walk?" The answer should be "no." Remind them that they didn't say "please." When they ask again with "please" in it, explain that the decision was final, but they can appeal the decision after filling out several forms and getting them notarized by the appropriate authorities. It's never too early to teach your children the joys of bureaucracy.

Just remember. Your kids aren't going to remember any of this shit anyway. If they ask about this time, avoid the subject or just lie. Point at your woman's/ your vagina and remind them of the hell they wrought on it. It's never going to be the same. We all make sacrifices. Sometimes a sacrifice can be shutting the fuck up. Stop being selfish and be a team player. Ungrateful little shit.

NORMAL CHILDHOOD

Now, this is the time when they will actually remember shit. They can read and write. They may even be going to school. Try to get them into school as soon as possible. That's 8 hours that you don't have to be anywhere near them, thank God. This is not an easy time, however. You have to be strong and consistent. I am dividing this into two. One for boys and one for girls.

Boys

Boys should have minimal contact with their mothers. They can't become overly reliant on women. If he has to interact with his mother, make sure you/ your woman puts on a fake moustache. He must not be allowed to connect to anything feminine... unless you find out he's gay, then he can only spend time with his mother. If he is going to be gay, he must be fabulous. That little queer is going to go into acting and make you a shit ton of money. Value him over all of his siblings. Make sure he's really gay though. There's no money in pseudo-gays. Limit your family to only one gay son. Make him convert to Judaism to really raise his chances of making it in show biz. 

Now don't confuse gay with trans. If you got yourself a trans daughter, scroll down to the girls part. She should be treated no differently than a girl. 

Let's assume you have a typical cis-gendered  heterosexual male son. As previously stated, limit his time with his mother. She should only acknowledge his existence once or twice a day but no more. His feelings should be non-existent. Not to say he doesn't have emotions, but he should never allow any one to know he has them. This includes happiness and anger. The only emotions that should be displayed are gratitude and subservience.

As his father, you should consistently remind him of his inferiority to you. He should already be keeping the maintenance of his foreskin case, but also make sure he stares at it for a solid half hour meditating on his subservient position to you. Regale him with the story of how you circumcised that little bastard.

You should shower with your son. (Not take baths. Baths are gay. Therefore, they are reserved for your gay son.) Make sure your son sees your massive dick. Really flaunt it. Remember to keep him at a distance from it. You don't want him noticing any flaws. Imprint in his mind that this is the biggest penis to ever exist. The mere mass of it will imprint in his memory for time en memorium. When you first start this, it will most likely be bigger than his head. No one can forget a dick bigger than their head. Try... You CAN'T.

Now, if you are unfortunate enough to have a micro-penis, then try to imprint that your son is the freak. Tell him that his penis is monstrous and abnormal. Tell him that his mother handled radioactive materials during her pregnancy and that's why he has such a freakish dick.

Maybe, your son brings you drawings from school or tries to impress you in any way. Maybe, he wants to gain your approval. Your approval is set aside for only one child, and that's your gay son. If it isn't your gay son, he will never get your approval. This is where you should show him your talents. If he shows you a drawing, draw a better picture right in front of him. Draw a better picture of you drawing a better picture with one hand drawing and the other flipping the bird. Is picture you wearing sunglasses? You better believe he's wearing sunglasses and they're bitchin'. 

Did your son do well in school? Go to the school and get all the assignments the teacher gave out. Do them in front of him. Tell him that all the answers are right and it took you like five minutes to do it all. Remind him that not only is your dick bigger but so is your brain. Then tell him to run a lap around the house or else he won't get dinner.

At no point should your son hear the words "good" and "job" in the same sentence. The word "congratulations" should be foreign to him unless done in a sarcastic tone. 

Maybe, you have two or more sons. Never favor any of them (unless one is gay). They may fight for your affection. The older one might bully the younger one. Give the younger one a knife if this happens. Then reprimand both of them. There's no reason to fight when both know they are equally inferior to you. Have them sit in silence while you flex your muscles shirtless in the living room for an hour. Don't break eye contact.

Once they are of age, show them how babies are made. Really get technical and descriptive as you demonstrate with your woman. You should do this in a cold monotone manner. Do not show joy. Also, do no let them look away as you violate the once-sacred entity that is their mother. Neither one of you should break eye contact. Remain silent in this exchange apart from your explanation. Grunts and moans are a sign of weakness and I assure you will be interpreted as such. End the demonstration by pulling out and ejaculating into an old-timey spittoon. Give your woman a firm handshake and a nod. Turn to your son and tell them that no woman would ever engage in this act with him due to his unworthiness. Have him run a lap around the house and give you 20 push-ups. When he finishes, have him sit down while you once again flex your muscles for an hour in complete naked silence.

Girls

So, you've got yourself a girl. Mazel tov. Girls are fundamentally different from boys in several ways. First, separate the trans sons from the daughters. Trans sons are raised like regular boys. Refer to the section above. Good. Now, second, are any of your daughters a lesbian. If you have a lesbian on your hands I'm sorry. They are not like gay sons. Lesbians cannot make you any money in Hollywood. There's only one successful one. That's Ellen. She's not going no where. It doesn't matter if your lesbian daughter is Jewish or not. She is effectively useless. Try to break even by pushing her towards the business world and being supportive of her choices. There's nothing to lose. It's not like she's going to produce grandchildren or a rich husband. She is going to have to be self-sufficient, so raise her as such. Never let her know how truly disappointed you are. I guess she'll have to settle for a "normal, loving childhood." Jesus, even typing that makes me nauseous.

So you should be left with the heterosexual, cis-gendered girls. Good. They will have one purpose in life: fetching a rich husband. This is the sole job of you women. Their father should never serve as an living example of how men should be. You don't want them having expectations. Expectations leads to difficulties finding a rich husband.

Constantly try to live vicariously through them. Always point out the defects of their father. Remind them that they don't want to end up like you. Dictate all your instructions while sitting on the couch and drinking wine. If you like to exercise and stay fit, never let your daughters see you do this. Constantly point out that they are too skinny or too fat. Suggest it's due to the food they eat. Never cook for them. You're not going to be the one cooking for their husbands and they know damn well how to read. They can figure out a recipe on their own.

Have them start making pastries like cookies and cakes. After eating it, tell them you now know why they are so fat. That should push them toward cooking healthy food.

Enter them in beauty pageants and purposefully sabotage them behind their backs. When they inevitably lose, blame them for all the problems in your life. 

If they become even remotely interested in boys their own age, scare them out of it. Tell them that boys their age will lure them into rivers and drown them. Make sure your daughters never look into Irish folklore, especially in regards to the kelpie... they might start making connections.

This is a Kelpie. Guess what happens next?

 Force images of handsome old men on them. This will widen your market for suitable husbands. Try to get them physically attracted to money. Every once in a while buy your daughter something nice. "Rent" it to her. When she can't pay the rent, take it away from her. Puppies and kitties are perfect for this. Really get her attached to it. Have her pick out a name and spend a solid month with it. Really make the connection between receiving unconditional affection and money.

When she gets her first period, this is when you can look for potential suitors. Make sure they offer a compensation for the loss of your daughter. Dinner isn't going to cook itself anymore after all. Check their financial records and get proof of pension/employment. The older the better. With any luck, the money you get for one of your daughters is enough to pay for your lesbian daughter's university tuition or your gay son's acting lessons.

ADDITIONAL ADVICE

Regardless of what you have (with the exception of a lesbian or gay son), never tell your children you love them. Make them really earn it. Once your sons finish university and get decent jobs or once your daughters get married to a suitable husband, then and only then can you say "I love you." It'll have them coming back for more. If questioned by their colleagues and friends or government authorities about the upbringing of your child, pause and imagine how your child's upbringing would be if they were gay/lesbian. Then, tell them that. 

If you follow this to a tee, I assure you that your kids will be successful AND profitable, or your money back.

Also, only hug or hold your children when you have to fart. As soon as you hold them, let it rip. Make sure it is as loud as possible. This won't help anyone. I just am curious if you can "Pavlov" a child into making a connection between farts and physical parental affection.